


More Than Friends

by Leviafan



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Gay Parents, M/M, Marius is mostly a plot device, but a pretty cute one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-18 13:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7316962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leviafan/pseuds/Leviafan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After nineteen years, a crossroads. Down one path lies gloom; down the other, light, warmth, love. But even that has its risks for Éponine. For the first time she has something at stake— something to lose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> To the recipient: Hope Eposette really is chill with you! And the bonus old gays. Please forgive my indulgence.
> 
> A short playlist of songs that inspired me is [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL7yt0acduIIcvkugUKLiVkZ8SpMuqyq6g).

**PARIS, 2005**

She has her own corner. It's not much. She never has much, never claims more than her share. But this corner is hers, a refuge she can crawl to when it starts to overwhelm. Today has been one of the worse days. Madame is anxious, Monsieur is impatient. They're waiting for something. The children don't quite know what, but they can sense storms as well as any sailor. This one looks to be a hurricane when it breaks. And so she's come here.

No one judges her here. It's quiet. There's space to curl up, take off her armor. Beneath this self-made chrysalis a vital being waits, dormant except for moments like this. She clutches a doll to her chest; a gift from some woman, she thinks. Her mother? The doll is precious to her, anyway. A song wells up in her, halfway to her lips when—

“Cosette!”

Still unseen, she shrinks from the shout. It’s the woman’s voice. He mostly ignores her, an improvement on his wife. She hates her.

Cosette wastes no time, knowing what disobedience will cost. No sooner does she emerge than a hand descends on her, too much pressure bearing down on her shoulder. A whimper escapes her, no more.

“Cosette, have you scrubbed the kitchen floor yet?”

A shake of the head. “No, madame.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Get going, we’re expecting company!”

The kind of company they usually expect won’t notice the kitchen floor’s extra shine— but Cosette doesn’t argue. She grabs a mop too big for her frame and bravely sets out to clean anyway. Madame watches from the doorway a while. Once she’s sure the job is acceptable, she moves on and the child can breathe again.

The peace barely lasts five minutes. She’s a quarter of the way through when to her horror she watches dirty footprints materialize on the still-wet surface. The two other girls have come in from playing in the yard. (It’s not much of a yard, truthfully, but it does have plenty of mud.)

Cosette stares at the pairs of prints, one bigger than the other, then slowly raises her eyes to the creators. As the oldest Éponine stares back with confidence. Azelma looks to her sister for cues.

“What’re you looking at?”

She knows better than to answer— but if she doesn’t… “I’m mopping,” she says finally.

“You missed a spot,” Éponine points out smugly. Azelma deliberately creates another.

Cosette looks down and without a word shoves the mop across the muddy stains.

“Is that your doll?” Instinctively she hides the toy, but her clothes are too scant for concealment. Éponine snatches it from her arms, sticks out her tongue. “I’ll borrow that.”

“Are you finished yet?” A sharp bark from across the room. Cosette jumps slightly. “Our guest arrives in ten minutes!”

After that she hurries. Madame shoos the girls away to their room, where the baby watches them from his crib with accusing eyes. They ignore him.

Cosette finishes just in time. The floor still shines when the visitor sets foot there. It’s like seeing an alien. This man doesn’t look like any of the prior visitors, except maybe the social worker who used to come until she stopped two years ago.

He’s not tall; like all adults, to Cosette he seems giant. But she’s unafraid. When he offers a hand, she takes it. And just like that she’s leaving. She’ll see her mother again. In a daze, she’s led out of the apartment.

Two pairs of eyes follow her from a cracked door. At least one burns with a spark of envy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day of lycée comes with plenty of surprises. At least finding your father in the arms of his former jailer isn't one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any inaccuracies regarding French education. I probably should have set it in an American AU, but... I didn't, so here we are.

**RUE OUDINOT, 2012**

“Cosette!” That voice carries through apartment walls as well as it once did across prison cells. Only this time it doesn’t command instant obedience. “Cosette, you’re going to be late!”

“She’s not going to be late.”

“Oh, so you’re a Swiss watch now? Cosette—” The hand on his arm stops his pacing, at least. He’s not going to look over. He knows what he’ll see, and he’s not in the mood for… for smiles. “You still have to eat breakfast!”

“She’ll be fine.” A short silence. “Right?”

He feels the air chill. He actually feels it go cold as goddamned Antarctica. Now he looks. And sighs. He’s going to have to be the adult here. “Yes. She’ll be fine. I’m just concerned she’s going to be late.”

“You’ve said that three times,” but he still looks green around the gills. There go any grand plans for the extra half hour before his shift.

“She’s fifteen. She’s made it this far without imploding under the weight of all your worrying. You have to let her be independent. You have to trust her.”

That gets through. He’s not entirely surprised to have warm, soft boyfriend leaning against him, but it’s nice either way. “If she takes much longer, I’m going to have to—”

“Dad, here I am. Dads,” she amends. “Sorry, I thought you must have chased him away with all your shouting.”

“I didn’t.” Javert gives a pointed look to the back of her head. She’s already fixing her morning toast. “It takes a lot more than… well, me, these days, to scare your father.”

“I didn’t say he was scared,” she counters without missing a beat. “Are you going to take me to school in a police car?”

“You want to get arrested?”

“Javert—”

“See this raised eyebrow? It’s a joke, Jean.”

“I knew that.”

“Sure you did.”

“Not everybody can be you. Always right all the time…”

Cosette hears the purr in his voice, resists the urge to bury her face in her hands. So embarrassing… “Not at breakfast, please.”

“Just wait until you get a boyfriend.” Javert reluctantly relinquishes his, substituting a giant cup of coffee. He ignores the horrified look he’s just engendered on both their faces. No, not ignores. Smirks. “It’ll be soon.”

“Not too soon.”

She pushes a piece of toast in his hands, hopes that will distract him.

“Just be glad it hasn’t happened already.”

“Right. Along with alcohol, drugs… gangs…”

“You laugh now, but don’t you dare bring my name up if—”

“Javert.” His war-weary voice breaks in. “Don’t antagonize the teenager.”

A wolfish grin. “I’ve gotta get my fun somewhere.” And speaking of wolves, some aren’t as tame or as innocent as their smiling Golden Retriever faces would seem to imply. “No, Joséphine. I’m not even having toast this morning.” Just goes to show she’s not the brightest. Nearly a year with them and she still hasn’t learned. Javert doesn’t do charity. Not when half the time he’s the one filling the bowl with kibble.

“Sit down to eat. I’ll check your hair. Do you have your lunch ready?”

“Yes. I made it for her,” he interjects. He knew she might not have time herself.

She obeys this time, nibbling on her own toast, trying to keep still as Javert tightens one among many braids reaching past her shoulders. Each is tied by a silk ribbon, the set a present for this occasion, this rite of passage.

And when he’s not looking, Cosette slips half a slice under the table. The dog snatches it with a practiced delicacy. They do have one eyewitness— but he’s no snitch.

 

* * *

**LATER THAT MORNING**

She’s late. She tried so hard not to be. Got up early to do her makeup, her clothes. Sure, who cares— it’s just school, where she’ll pretend to pay attention when she has to, do the bare minimum of work, hope not to get noticed by peers or teachers. But there’s a part of her that would like to at least have the option. Throwing something away feels different than forever staring at it from the sidelines.

But she’s screwed. By her dad, of course. Insisted she stay behind to help him with who the hell cares. She’d already put it off ‘til the last second, the difference of one métro and now she’s late.

It’s not a graceful entrance. Éponine half-stumbles into the class, interrupting the teacher’s introduction. She reads the name on the board so at least she knows whom to address with her apology. The teacher’s not bad-looking, if she didn’t need those glasses. The eyes behind them are kind.

“It’s all right for today, but I hope you’ll be on time from now on, Mlle Thénardier.”

“I’ll try,” she mumbles, unwilling to make any promises.

“Why don’t you sit next to Mlle Fauchelevent, right here…”

Éponine follows her to a seat where a generously sized girl eyes her like she has the plague. The name doesn’t mean anything to her. What is this one’s problem? She won’t push her luck during class, but after, in the hall, she takes the girl aside. Forcibly, by the shoulders.

“Do I know you?” she demands. The look she gets in return grabs her attention.

“My name…” she starts as if a train reluctant to leave the station, “is Cosette.”

Testing the waters. They’re very cold all of a sudden. “Holy shit,” Éponine breathes, half expecting to see the vapor.

“Yeah.” Her arms fold. The hands fall from her shoulders.

“So…” She glances to the open door. They still have classes together. Every day. It’s Eponine’s turn to look wary. “Now what?”

After a long, agonizing moment Cosette shrugs. “We get along the best we can.”

Not quite the answer she’s expecting. She stares, not even thinking to brush away the strands of black hair that obscure her vision. Then, a crazy thought. “Can I borrow your lipstick?” Ay, bold move. “It’s just, I didn’t have time this morning.” Nice save. She sees a flash of memory, more violent ‘lendings,’ feels something shift restlessly in her gut. Then, incredibly, she nods.

“Sure.”

Just like that Éponine knows they’re going to be friends, probably whether she likes it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rue Oudinot = Rue Plumet.
> 
> Joséphine will be making further appearances. If you should happen to see references to Jo, Jojo, Fifi, or Zéphine, it's the same dog.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a day out with a friend and her family creates new problems on top of old.

**RUE MOUFFETARD, 2016**

“Wait up!” The key always sticks. Always. Damn this cheap apartment... She gives it a violent twist out of desperation. With a screech it finally obeys. She grins in satisfaction and hurries down the stairs, catching up on street level slightly breathless. She lives on the second floor because she can just barely afford it.

On paper it’s not the most natural of friendships. Éponine, come from the gutter and not that much above it even now, and Cosette, who since the age of eight has known no want. The lap of luxury, her mother would call it, and with some addendum too vulgar to repeat. Éponine’s heard it a dozen times at least, how ‘that girl’ ruined them. ‘That girl’ went off and had a pampered life while they sat in a sinkhole and rotted. But whose fault is that? Naturally she’s omitted this particular fact to her parents. She’s abetted by the fact that they don’t give a damn. They couldn’t care less who her friends are. One silver lining, at least.

“So, no classes today?” They’re both new to university, still learning their own schedules as well as each other’s.

She shakes her head. “No. Well, one in the afternoon, but I don’t have to worry about that for hours.” A sideways glance. Almost suspicious. “Your dad rides you pretty hard, huh?”

“What? Nah, he’s cool. But I want to do well for myself, so I can be proud of what I’ve done.”

Hold your tongue, chica. She doesn’t need to hear that you’re proud of her. Jesus. “Not that dad,” she says with ironic bite. “The one that keeps threatening to arrest me. In between fighting lessons.”

Éponine looks away in pretended disinterest, or feigned interest in the buildings as they slowly passed by. Damn, her laugh is such a pleasant thing to hear.

“Oh! He’s alright too. If he’s teasing you, he must like you. He’s not… he’s got a funny sense of humor and he knows it, so he doesn’t always let it shine. He does the same thing with Dad. Which doesn’t go over so well, but— you’ve seen how they are.”

Yeah, she has. Strange thing too. Neither one is Cosette’s actual dad, and yet they’re happy in a way she wishes her parents could be. Maybe then they’d be bearable. Maybe.

“Relationship goals, right? I’d kill to have something like they’ve got.” A pause. She’s even more studious about averting her gaze. The laundromat to her right is suddenly the most fascinating sight. “Before them I didn’t even… I thought it was just in movies. I mean, they must fight, I know that. Nothing’s ever perfect. But—”

“They love each other.” She looks over and Cosette’s smile, it’s like coming out of a cave into the sunshine. “Why, do your parents not—”

“No.” Éponine doesn’t mean to be sharp, not with her, but that tone cuts off further pursuance. Instead she stares ahead. “So where are we going? A secret?”

“Not exactly.” The warmth in Cosette’s voice is such a contrast with her own, it gives her a guilty twinge. “Dad wants to visit Notre-Dame— again— so he said he’d meet us at Berthillon.”

“Hard to argue with ice cream in the summer,” she says while mentally calculating the cost. She doesn’t know why. Fauchelevent won’t let her anyway. And it makes him so happy, why fight it? (Because that’s what she does.)

“Yeah. You know what else summer means?” Before she can answer, Cosette barrels ahead. “The beach. We’re going down south soon.” As soon as the pause starts, she knows what’s coming. She’s still not quick enough head it off. “Hey, you could come with us!”

“No. I couldn’t.” Her face falls as suddenly as if the ground has opened up beneath her. “My dad, he’ll want me here.”

“Why?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Well, now she has to know. “He’s still dealing drugs?”

“What do you think? Yeah, of course he is. And he wants me to help.”

“Like hell you will!” It’s not rare exactly, Cosette swearing, but somehow it always comes as a surprise. Softer she adds, “You’re an adult now, you don’t have to. He knows that. And if he doesn’t, tell him.”

“Just like that, huh?” Éponine scoffs, though without malice. She wishes it were that simple. “You don’t know him.” A few seconds’ silence as this sinks in; she sighs. “I mean… you left before it all went to hell. He wasn’t hardcore into drugs yet. At least, I don’t think so. I got old fast, but I was still only eight.” She should shake off the hand that sneaks into hers. She doesn’t.

They walk in silence after that. Cosette glances over now and then; Éponine carefully resists. The belltowers become visible long before they can even think of crossing a bridge. They’re early; he arrives shortly after, almost glowing with inner peace. It seems out of place at an ice cream parlor, but who’s going to complain when he covers the cost of your scoop?

They cross over to Notre-Dame. Cosette teases that he hasn’t had enough, which he doesn’t deny. They sit outside in the cathedral’s shadow, talking of their classes and the way his new crop of begonias is growing.

Even Éponine fails to notice the other shadow encroaching, for all that it’s familiar.

* * *

 

The apartment is quiet after a day out. Not the best sensation, but she’ll survive. The problem starts where the silence ends. The silken voice propels her out of cold, sugary reverie and straight into hell without any stops.

“Looks like you had a nice day.” He’s leaning against her counter. He almost sounds envious. (That’s got to be an act.)

“I did,” she answers warily. His visits never bode well. Either he’s here for himself or for her father. She’s not sure right now which she’d like less. “What’s it to you?”

“So hostile.” He clucks like an old fishwife; she nearly laughs aloud. “Just thought you should know about your friend, her father. Thénardier has him in his sights now, thanks to you.”

Éponine stares at him. “You’re not making sense.”

“Sure I am.” Brief pause to inspect the fingernails. They haven’t changed since five minutes ago. “He knows what the old man is, and he’s going to milk him.”

No, he’s still being obtuse. “What about him? He’s not even in the closet.”

“Not in that sense maybe. Well, it’s nothing to me, I just thought you’d want a heads-up.”

“Thanks a lot,” she snarls. “Very helpful this has been. Now get out.”

“No kiss for my trouble?” He knows when to push his luck. The look on her face is answer enough. He gets out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate playing the Hugo card but soon we will be able to call him Valjean... very soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alliance forms.

**RUE OUDINOT**

Javert gets home after a long shift. Somehow they seem to be getting longer, though in his precision, with the incontrovertible evidence of his watch, he knows it’s not so. It’s an illusion created by his eagerness to get back to what’s not overtaken his duty, but grown up around it like ivy until the two are indistinguishable and impossible to separate.

Today though, the garden is less than Eden. Jean is scrubbing dishes like they’ve personally offended him. He recognizes the look and gives no quarter.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Sharper: “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” A pause. “I’m dealing with it.”

Javert reaches around, takes him by the wrists; he stills. “You’re not dealing with it alone. You’re going to tell me what’s wrong, or I’ll… well. I’ll think of something.”

Jean turns around, leans against him, curls brushing his chin. “I had a visitor today.” He seems to be building up to it. A moment later Javert understands why. “Thénardier. He knows.”

Without missing a beat he asks, “What does he want?”

“Money. I said I would just so he’d go away.”

“No.”

“Javert—”

“If he can’t be bothered to do even basic reconnaissance on his marks, that’s on him. We can’t have criminals thinking they can blackmail my boyfriend. That’s police corruption.”

“It is now you know about it.” He sighs. “It’s been so long since I heard that name from anyone but you…”

“Valjean.” It comes out soft, a breath of warm air against his cheek. “I’ll find a way around this.”

“What way? What can you possibly do?” It’s not a reproach. He just knows Javert, knows his limits.

So does Javert, and his lines are drawn a little differently these days. “He’s not going to blackmail you.” The words are solemn and carry with them a firm foundation of promise.

A knock at the door; they part, reluctantly, exchanging a glance. They’re both surprised to see Éponine.

“Has he been here?”

“What?” Valjean asks, more out of confusion than ignorance. There’s only one ‘he’ she can mean.

“Has he been here?” she repeats, slower, like she’s addressing a child. After a tense moment Valjean nods. She snaps the door shut with too much force. The breeze ruffles their feathers. “I was hoping Monty was making shit up. But no, for once he’s not.” Little weasel. She sighs. “What does he want? Money?” Please God let it just be money.

“He’s not getting any.”

She raises an eyebrow at Javert, then shrugs. Guard dog doesn’t look half bad on him. Where it’s implausible is sitting on her own bony shoulders. But between the three of them, just maybe.

“How?”

“Don’t you worry about that."

She fixes him with a look. “Don’t you trust me?”

Javert stares back, unflinching. “He’s your father. Don’t need you, don’t want to put you in that position.”

Slowly: “I want in.”

Something— maybe recognition— gleams in his eyes. “You really hate your old man, huh.”

“Who doesn’t?” She regrets saying it the second the words leave her lips. “Yourselves excepted.”

One corner of Javert’s mouth creeps up. “Not me. I make myself very hard to love.”

Éponine shrugs. “Not the same thing. So. Am I in?”

The two men exchange a glance. Valjean doesn’t like the way it reminds him of a time when it was us against them; he’d never joined in then. But all this is to get away from that.

Finally he nods and so does Javert. “Fine. But you’ll have to be careful. Even an unofficial operation can’t go putting civilians in danger. Can you do that?”

A scoff, a snort of laughter. “I know how to deal with him.”

“Don’t overplay your hand. Cosette would have my head if anything were to happen to you.”

“She’d be alright.” Still Éponine doesn’t dismiss it instantly. In fact she’s touched. She never really thought Cosette would miss her. The other is the type to spare feelings through a lie. Javert isn’t. He might be wrong, but he’s only saying what he thinks— and it’s not like he’s a stranger. Maybe it’s even true.

“Still. Don’t be rash. Follow my lead on this, can you manage that?”

“I can handle myself.”

“Not what I asked. Yes, he’s your father, but you’ll be going against him. I wouldn’t count on that as an asset. He’s also a criminal.”

“You don’t have to remind me.” A tense moment, a glare. She nods, just barely. “Fine. If it’s that big a deal to you.”

Javert looks like he’s itching to say something— probably ‘blackmail is not a big enough deal to you?’ but he clamps his lips tighter together instead.

Valjean puts a hand on her shoulder. “Trust us, okay? Maybe we can even get him out of your hair.”

“Fat chance.” But her eyes are wide enough to let hope in. “Thanks anyway. I’ll just be glad if you make it out unscathed.”

“He will.” The words in that tone— if she didn’t know they weren’t for her she would have found them pretty intimidating. Because they’re for her father instead, she feels a warmth in her chest. Unfamiliar. She’s not sure what to make of it, just that she likes it.

“Were you seen?” When she looks at him blankly, he presses: “For subterfuge to work it has to be sub. Underground. Below the—”

“I get it. Look, the only reason this is coming up now is because we were seen. Papi must have caught wind of us at the cathedral or something. I sure as hell never told him about you guys.”

“Obviously,” Javert quips with a wry grin that doesn’t fade. He’s in his element now. “But on the way here?” He’ll probably suspect either way, more’s the pity. Éponine would make a more efficient agent in this particular case if she weren’t so close to it. Maybe Javert would too but no way is he turning this over to somebody else. He’s sure it can be worked out with a minimum of fuss. After all, Thénardier is up to something. What kind of threat can he pose behind bars?

“I know that look.” It shifts to a faux neutrality. Valjean frowns, touches his arm gently. “Why don’t you just get him for blackmail? That’s against the law too.”

“Yeah, it is, along with everything else he does. If he could he’d steal the air he’s breathing just out of spite. He’s got a big file, short sheet— can’t make anything stick for long. And meanwhile he’s trying to drag his kids into it. I want him out of the picture. Not free to hassle you, our family or anyone else.”

It’s times like these the nobility shines through. Javert always plays it down, but he can’t hide completely. “Alright. So what are you going to do?”

“I’ll start making inquiries— but I doubt I’ll wrap it up before…” He trails off with a sharp aside to Éponine. “We’re going to Nice. Are you?”

With an amused cant to his lips Valjean adds, “What he means is, would you like to go with us? You can stay with Cosette, she has her own room.”

She decides not to think too hard about the implications of either. “I’ll have to check with my secretary. My people will get back to your people.”

“That’s a yes then. Excellent.” Javert rubs his hands together; Éponine is reminded of— well, his boyfriend. People rub off on you, get too close to them. His glee might be more for the prospect of a case, but still. Someone’s glad to have her around.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroines strike out on their own in a city with plenty to offer.

The train ride south is uneventful. At least, not filled with the kind of malarkey that passes for eventus with her father and his gang. The whole time passes by in a flash, somehow taken up by Valjean— Fauchelevent, she has to remind herself— beating them all at cards, followed by Javert teaching her magic tricks. (“You’d better not need them, that’s what university is for, but it passes the time—”)

Cosette sits next to her, warmth personified without being grating. She’s a natural. Must have been this way from birth, except Éponine has seen her otherwise. It just makes now even more remarkable.

Once or twice she asks to borrow her lipstick. Even though it’s not Éponine’s color really, the ritual is firmly rooted in their friendship by now, Cosette doesn’t question it. Her lipstick needs refreshing often. Cosette doesn’t question that either. Trusting soul (though not without her hidden depths) she must not suspect.

At least, that’s what Éponine assumes.

“What do you want to do when we get there?”

At first she doesn’t hear, staring out at the rapidly fleeing countryside. Then she realizes, turns towards her. “No idea. I’ve never been south before.”

Someone born into the lifestyle of people who have always gone south would have gotten their face stuck in an incredulous ‘o’ but Cosette, who knows her situation so well because she’s lived it, promptly starts listing all of Nice’s many perks. “And we’ll lie on the beach all day. I’m not going to move.”

“You’ll get sunburned.”

“ _You’ll_ get sunburned,” Cosette points out with a grin, nudging her side. “I”ll just get nice and toasty.” She stretches, eyes closed, as if she’s already there.

“If you stay out long enough you will too. But don’t worry, I hear they have this stuff called aloe vera, cools it right down.” She doesn’t mention the little thrill she gets from the thought. Probably Fauchelevent will do it anyway.

It’s quiet in their car, a rare splurge for a private car. Valjean’s head is nestled on Javert’s shoulder, and their hands are entwined as they both doze. Éponine’s instinct is to murmur; Cosette, so often walking as if on eggshells, feels no such compunction. That earns her a curious look.

“You’re not worried you’ll wake them?” she all but whispers.

“No. When they’re out together, they’re out for good. Not a peep until we get there, I’d bet you. Besides, so what? We’re going on holiday. All we’ll be doing is resting. Unless you think they’d catch us at something.”

“Like what?” The car is suddenly too warm. Is the air conditioning out?

“Like… this.” With a grin Cosette leans across the space separating their seats and takes something from Javert’s pocket. She palms it over to Éponine, who finds herself staring at a pen. “It’s his seven and a half year anniversary pen. The story goes he got it after they had a massive fight, even broke up for about a week. God, that was miserable. Never again. I couldn’t afford the ice cream.”

“Yeah, but he’ll notice it’s gone.”

“He’ll know who took it too. Don’t worry, Ép. It’s just a minor annoyance. He’ll get over it.”

She has her doubts about that, but the warm hand on her shoulder makes up for a lot.

* * *

“Grab my hand.” Usually she doesn’t ask. Maybe something about the holiday nature of this trip has broken the bounds of normality and made her tiptoe. There’s no need. The streets of Nice are small and crowded. Besides, she has her own reasons for complying. Their hands nest neatly together as if meant to be. Éponine manages to stay casual, stare around. That’s not hard either. Plenty of material for staring.

“Wow,” she says, gaze lingering over the array of buildings passing by. “So you come here every summer.”

“Yeah, since I was eleven. The year after Mom died. Dad didn’t want me brooding and he said her spirit was everywhere, even here.” She squints against the sun. “He was right though. I found her, and a whole lot more.”

“You ever dated? Here, I mean. Far away from all the idiots at school.”

There’s her laugh again. Éponine wishes it wouldn’t warm her so. “Once or twice. I even introduced one to the dads. That… could have gone better. I didn’t warn him there’d be two. Don’t make a face, it wasn’t like that. He was just intimidated by double the protection.” Her grin, too.

“That’s nice though. They give a damn about you. Oh!” A deliberate distraction, but an effective one. She points out a street vendor selling crêpes. “Come on, I’m hungry.”

Cosette doesn’t argue, just follows. Éponine insists on paying her own way and after a brief exchange, she wins out.

Treat in hand, she asks, “So you want to go swimming later?”

“Sure. We don’t have to meet up with them until dinner.”

“Or at all.” Her own grin is sly. Cosette nudges her.

“Naughty! It won’t be so bad. Anyway, we have hours to go until then. Let’s make the most of it. I want to live on the sands.”

Eventually they do make it to the beach. Cosette is as good as her word— she parks herself on a towel and only deigns to move when swimming is suggested. Then she throws off what few clothes haven’t already been discarded and goes running into the surf. Éponine follows at a more leisurely pace. One might even call it sultry except that the word belongs with an audience. Who is this for? Not the boys who whistle near water’s edge. She has only scorn for them and only eyes for the sea.

She throws herself in recklessly, not caring that the water is cold or that the salt spray stings her skin. It’s all good, all better than it has any right to be. She strikes out for the familiar head bobbing on the horizon until it disappears under the waves. Even that doesn’t stop her. She keeps going, eventually collides with a solid mass that laughs and splashes her in retaliation.

They stay asea until their skin is aged a century with wrinkles, then climb out like primordial beasts to evolve— in their cases, to drier warmer beings. They splay together on one large towel with the careless touches of intimate friends. Éponine pillows her head on one arm, propped on her side to listen to Cosette talk. About what she has no idea and it doesn’t matter. Well— it matters, but not in that way.

She almost wishes her friend’s skin would be seared so she can have an excuse to touch. Éponine understands the crookedness of this thought, refuses to straighten it. She’s earned the right to keep that thought even if it has to be tucked away beyond sight.

It’s hers, even if Cosette will never be.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people always have the worst timing.

“So that’s a wrap.”

It’s after dinner. Cosette occupies the entire bed for now, sprawled on her stomach, watching propped on her elbows as Éponine brushes her teeth, staring at the hem of her too-large t-shirt that’s serving as a nightdress. The discrepancy in size is explained by her need to borrow from Cosette. It’s not quite long enough to completely veil a peek at her underwear, which is black, simple, somehow elegant. Even though Éponine had no time for such forethought, she’d brought her nicest pairs— just in case?

That’s ridiculous and she knows it. She spits toothpaste into the sink, rinses. Now she feels worthy to join Cosette on the bed. Her weight makes the mattress sag slightly as she sidles closer. “Much better. I still had the taste of oysters in my teeth. It’s fine going down, but I don’t want to sleep with it.”

Cosette makes a face, pretends to pull away, then laughs. “Does anybody?”

“I don’t know. There must be someone.”

“It takes all kinds?”

She shrugs, flops back. “Guess so.” Her hair, freed from its confines, spreads across the pillow like a halo. Éponine wishes she could touch it, but that’s beyond a sinner like her and she knows it. Instead she lies parallel, nonchalant in the way she doesn’t look at Cosette, like it’s not saving herself from too-bright rays of sun.

With a sigh she settles back against the soft fabric. Closes her eyes. “I can’t wait til this year is over and I can get away from the family. I’ll move somewhere far away. Timbuktu. Do you think they have cats in Timbuktu?”

“Everywhere has cats… still dreaming of a feline sanctuary?” A gentle jest; they both know who’s really prone to this. Not the first time the subject has come up. Cosette rolls onto her side.

“Can’t have a cat where I live. It’s not a big deal, just feels like one more ‘no’ stifling me. And every one named Thénardier.”

“What about Gavroche? Azelma?”

“They can take care of themselves.”

“Yeah, but just because they can…”

“Doesn’t mean they should. I know.” She sighs, vigorous enough to fling her bangs up. She worries about them. In a mutual silent pact between them she never says so, but they all know. “I can’t do anything for them. They’ll survive, they’ll get away. Same as me.”

Cosette’s hand finds hers and squeezes. “Are you really away though?”

“As far as I can be.” She doesn’t think much of Javert’s scheme. Not that he won’t try, won’t make a damn good effort even. But she knows her father too well. It’s like trying to get past a boulder in the road. Sometimes the best you could do was ignore it and walk around.

“Maybe someday we’ll run away together. Send letters back. Maybe Timbuktu. What do you say?” She’s drawn to look. Cosette’s eyes are an invitation, beckoning to her nose, down to her lips… Éponine moves closer, gaze darkening with fear sweetened with something else. Adventure, and hope. She’s been thinking of this for so long. Is she ready if this blows everything up? But she’s not the only one in motion—

Three precise raps break through the idyll, send them hurtling apart. Cosette goes to answer. “What is it?” she asks in such a peremptory way that it raises Javert’s brow.

“I could ask you the same,” he points out before replying. “I got a call from Paris. It seems all we needed was to focus— the investigation’s going well. And when we get back—” he peers into the room until he spots Éponine— “we’ll be ready for your part. Are you still game?”

She waves back as if to dismiss him. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Do you know how to say anything else?” he quipped, then: “Well, goodnight.”

A duo of “good nights” echo him. The door falls back into place with a heavy click.

* * *

**LATER IN THE NEXT ROOM**

“You want a change of odds? What happened?”

“Nothing happened, it’s just an impression.”

“You of all people should know that’s not fair.”

“Yes. More’s the pity. I think you’re going to win.”

“Well, either way they’re going to be the real winners.”

“Not just Éponine? Glad to hear you say it.”

Secure in Javert’s arms, he doesn’t need to feel jealous.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The appearance of a green-eyed monster.

“Hey. Can you walk Jojo?”

He can’t tell if her eyes under the sunglasses are open or shut. “A few more minutes...”

“How long have you been lying here?”

“Don’t worry. I just don’t want to move.”

“Yeah, that’s so reassuring,” Éponine pipes up. “I’ll do it.”

Cosette reaches over and circles her wrist. She misses the spark in her father’s eyes. “Not yet. I think I have been out here too long.”

Her heart flutters against her ribs but she manages to stay cool. “Is this the part where I say ‘I told you so’?”

“If you want,” she says meekly. “It’s your right.”

“Well, well. Never thought I’d see the day.” She flops back on the towel, lowers her own shades to meet Valjean’s look. “That okay with you, M. Fauchelevent?”

“Sure. Just don’t make her wait too long. She needs her exercise.”

“And so do we, right?” They both give her a laugh and it doesn’t even sound forced. She wouldn’t mind getting used to this. “Ten minutes. I just need to gloat a little.”

Valjean agrees to this, moves over to his own fluffy towel. Because of the presence of sprawling policeman already in evidence the view is obscured, but it pictures a somewhat meta tableau of Aladdin and Jasmine on their flying carpet. “The one where the criminal reforms and finds true love,” Valjean calls it whenever he really wants to wind Javert up. But by now it’s a game and he wears his princess identity with iconoclastic pride.

Meanwhile on Cosette’s bloom-strewn towel Éponine is less interested in their species than who is resting on top of it. All she knows is, they’re all pink and for a little variety maybe mauve. It does suit Cosette though. “Turn over, I’ll do your back,” she offers after her front has already been self-administered. Cosette obeys, presenting her back for ministration. She gasps when cool wet fingers touch her skin, followed by palms, all gentle and smooth. Éponine spreads the stuff with care until she’s gotten to every inch that might possibly be burnt. She pauses, contemplates going further; can feel Cosette holding her breath. With a grin only she can see, she pulls back. “All done.”

Cosette sits up gingerly, testing the waters. She winces only slightly. “Ahh, much better. Thanks.”

“My pl— you’re welcome.” She’s not sure if it would be too revealing or if it just wouldn’t sound right coming from her. “So. Zéphine.”

“Yeah. Jojo.” As if she’s heard her name, the dog trots over on sandy paws and sits, tongue lolling. “You’re the only one who calls her that.”

She shrugs, her own shoulders not sore; they’ve been protected by another of Cosette’s shirts. “It’s a nice name. You never hear it any more. Like...”

“Don’t say it—”

“Euphrasie.” A wicked grin. “No offense but that one’s a mouthful.”

“Yeah... if it wasn’t a connection— but it is, so I have to like it.”

“Guess so. I wouldn’t feel a need to like my name though.”

“You don’t like your _mother_.”

“True. I just wish I could. That doesn’t seem unreasonable, does it?”

“Of course not.” She links hands again. “Maybe someday.”

“How do you do it? How do you just... believe in people like that?”

“I had an excellent teacher.” She glances over to the magic carpet where the dad in question is using his boyfriend as a pillow while he reads. “And example.”

Rather than think too hard about this, Éponine climbs to her feet, pulling Cosette with her. “Come on, let’s do this. Poor Zéphine is waiting for us.”

“She looks pretty happy,” she observes but takes up the dog’s leash anyway. The three of them set off down the beach, in the direction of less crowds. This time of year there’s no such thing as completely deserted, but at least it thins out at the edges, enough that they can walk without stepping on someone else. Cosette chatters while Éponine listens, occasionally throws in a biting remark that makes her laugh despite herself. Joséphine strolls ahead of them, tugging gently at the leash.

Gently, that is, until she catches wind of something further up the beach. Off she flies, dragging Cosette with her, clinging on for dear life. Taken by surprise, she has no choice but to follow. Before Éponine can catch up, the retriever does what her kind was bred to do— retrieve. Unfortunately the Frisbee doesn’t belong to her and is already in its owner’s clutches. So, now, is Cosette.

Both are laughing uproariously, even covered in wet sand. Éponine stands to one side, arms folding. The boy is cute enough with his smile wrinkling his nose and his freckles and his wind-tousled curly hair— no, too cute. She dislikes him on sight, even to the way he pulls Cosette to her feet. Or tries to. They nearly go down again and it’s funny. She just marks him down as clumsy and incompetent. Both of which may be true, but Cosette still smiles at him.

Introductions are thrown around, mostly by Cosette, who seems (as so often) the one most put together. It turns out his name is Marius. Éponine keeps a half-smile mostly for her friend’s benefit. She already loathes him, for his class, his accent, his clothes, and most of all the way he seems to have captured Cosette’s attention. She’d been getting somewhere. Now this. Éponine wishes she were alone on this beach so she could scream.

Instead she walks with them, feeling like the dog must have a few minutes ago, if she’d cared. Zéphine looks unbothered by any of this though, so she tries to emulate this nonchalance. At first Cosette tries to include her in the conversation, but when these advances are rebuffed, gradually she tapers off to an occasional remark. She’s so caught up in Marius and his beautiful eyes… well, who knows if that’s actually true, but her eyes are nowhere else.

Finally they part ways with phone numbers exchanged, even an address. Who is this guy? Maybe he’ll come just to rob them— Éponine with her savvy in criminal matters should know better, but just now she prefers spite. She manages to say goodbye to him only when prompted. After his dark curls disappear around a corner, she’s about to release this bite (more bark, really) but Cosette’s expression is too blissful. She can’t bring herself to.

Maybe later. Not now.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young and old find points in common.

Her impression of dislike only deepens; Marius comes around, pops in and out like a jack in the box­—outstays his welcome, seemingly oblivious to her glares. Oblivious to everything but Cosette, in fact. She knows the feeling but right now it only makes her livid. How dare he swoop in just when things were starting to go right? She can’t stand it. She leaves them together and wanders to a lonelier stretch of beach. But she doesn’t stay solo for long.

“Monsieur—“

“You can call me Jean.”

She shakes her head. “Too weird.”

“Okay then.” He stares out at the waves lapping the shore. “So. Marius.”

The name comes out with unexpected bitterness; she turns her head towards him abruptly. “You don’t like him?” She doesn’t really think a guy like Valjean will confess to it even if true. The ensuing silence is close enough to a yes though. “Me neither.”

“It’s not fair,” he argues as much for himself as for her. There’s a note of despair clinging to his voice.

“No. I still don’t like him.”

“But it’s not over. Have you told her?”

“That I hate the guts of her new friend? Not likely.”

“No—how you feel.”

“Oh.” The bottom drops out of her stomach. “No.”

“You should. Nothing to lose.”

Éponine says nothing, gives him an eloquent look, then angles her face to the sea. “I don’t want to lose a friend.” She doesn’t mention Cosette is her best friend—at least she’s not her only friend. “She wouldn’t dump you over a little thing like that. It might be a little awkward for a while, that’s all.” Valjean doesn’t want to raise her hopes in case he’s wrong, but he thinks she’s got a very good chance. And there’s only one way to know for sure.

“I could handle that.” She squints against the sun. “I’ll get it over with. Next time we’re alone. But…” She pauses, not sure she wants to continue, before she does. “How?”

“Ah… I’m glad you asked. This will make you feel better about it. Javert asked me what I was looking for in a man. Just like that too. No idea that I did want a man. He’d felt me out about Fantine and for a while I thought he was interested in her. He’d looked so relieved when I told her we were just friends. It only dawned on me later. By then I—well, I described Javert back to him and he eventually caught on. But this is Cosette. You’ll be fine.”

 _And she’s your daughter,_ Éponine thinks. _She won’t be cruel._ All of a sudden her fear feels very silly. It doesn’t evaporate, but it’s dulled. “Thanks… Jean.” That still feels weird, but it is his name. Smile back in place she turns, heads down the beach. A trail of imprints—foot and five toes—trails behind her in the sand before it’s obliterated by the surf.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A leap is made.

This is her chance. It’s no different from so many other afternoons she’s spent with Cosette but she can feel it seize her. She knows because she can hardly move.

They’ve been sharing a bed all this time. She wonders if she’ll have to sleep on the floor, or in the next room. That would be the height of awkward. She imagines the look on Javert’s face and it almost stops her. But deep breath. She looks again at Cosette and knows it won’t be bad. Unbearable maybe, but none of that will be on Cosette.

“Uh, Zette?” This habit of shortening even already short names is something she’s picked up from her sister. “I—have something to tell you.”

“I’m listening.” She even looks like it. That shouldn’t make it worse.

“I like you.” A puzzled look greets her. She plows on. “I mean, I _like_ you. In a I’d really like to kiss you way. I didn’t want to tell you, because it’d make things weird but I just couldn’t anymore, not with Marius hanging around. So I just need to know—“

She’s interrupted by a kiss. It’s brief and innocent but ripe with meaning and promises for a future. Éponine stares at her like a deer in the middle of the road.

“Marius is a friend. I’m a little worried he wants more than that, because the truth is I’m interested in you.” Maybe he would have had a chance otherwise. In fact she’s sure he would have. But he’s a late arrival. Too late. She grabs her hand. “We’ve been friends for so long I was sure I was making it up.”

“No,” she says with a shaky laugh. “And I thought I was.” A moment where they stare boldly at each other. Then—“Now what?”

“Whatever we want, however fast we want it. But here’s something. I could do with another kiss.” She presents her lips as unequivocal invitation. This time Éponine accepts happily.

“You know what, I always knew I could stand up to my dad. Now I feel like I could stand up to the devil himself.”

She fully revels in Cosette’s laugh, rolls around in it. “That’s flattering. Anyway, I think that’s the plan.”

“I’m ready for it.” Fingers and legs entwined with hers, Éponine smiles, a wolfish baring of teeth. “I’m ready for anything.”

Cosette leans in to claim a kiss. It tastes of new beginnings. "So am I."


End file.
